I do, don't you, Allee? The women were pretty slow
about doing things--they talked so long each time before they could make
up their minds about anything. But it's int'resting to know that at
last they decided to send some barrels to the poor ministers in the
little places who don't get enough to live on. 'Twould have been better
if they had done it before Christmas, though, so's the children wouldn't
have thought Santa Claus had forgotten them. Do--do you think like Mrs.
McGowan--that if we have two coats and someone else hasn't any, we ought
to give away one of ours? That's what she said, isn't it?"

"Yes, that is what she said," Mrs. Campbell agreed; "and in a large
measure I believe her doctrine, too. If we have more than we need and
there are others less fortunate, I think we ought to share our
blessings. But it takes a lot of good sense and tact to do this
judicially."

"I think so, too," answered Peace with such a peculiar thrill in her
voice that the President, at whose side she was sitting, turned and
looked quizzically at the rapt face. "I don't b'lieve in talking a lot
about giving and then when it comes to really _doing_ it, to give just
the left-over things that ain't any good to us any longer, and wouldn't
be to anyone else, either."

"Why, what do you mean, child?" the woman asked, taken by surprise at
such quaint observations from the fly-away little maid, whose serious
thoughts were regarded as jokes even by her own family.

"Well, there was Mrs. Waddler in Parker. She always talked so big that
folks who didn't know her thought she must have millions of money; but
when she came to giving, it was usu'ly skim milk or some of her
husband's worn-out pants."

Here the President exploded, but at the same instant the horses turned
in at the driveway; and in scrambling down from the sleigh Peace forgot
to press her argument any further. Nor did the older folks remember it
again for some days. Then Mrs. Campbell entered the doctor's study one
afternoon with a deep frown on her forehead, and a little note in her
hand.

At the sound of her voice, the busy man paused in his writing and
glanced up hastily, asking, "What seems to be the difficulty?"

"This letter. I don't understand it. Mrs. Scofield writes a note of
regrets because I found it impossible to be with them at the last
missionary meeting, and closes by thanking me for my generous donation.
Now, it happens that just before Christmas, I carefully